A Clock Is Ticking
by WinterSunshine
Summary: Bella's mother is dead. Her lifelong companion, her best friend, killed in a house fire. And it nearly killed Bella, too, but she escaped-with nothing but a broken heart and emotional trauma. Without the will to go on, she goes to stay with Charlie in Forks, where she meets mysterious vampire Edward Cullen, intent on helping her find her will to live. And to love. AU, slightly OOC
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello, fellow readers! Welcome to an entirely brand new creation! I have to admit, the rough concept of this story wasn't exactly my doing, but what story comes about without a little outside inspiration? I'm excited to start this new, topsy-turvy alternate Twilight universe with you all. Please enjoy, and let me know what you think! Much love. xo.**

 _ **Song Inspiration: Somewhere a Clock is Ticking by Snow Patrol**_

Charlie was waiting for me when I got off the plane. Sighing heavily-because, really, what the hell was the point of all this?-I hiked my bag over my shoulder and made my way through the slight, but packed throng of people, waiting for their luggage around the carousal.

"Hey, Bells," Charlie said, automatically catching and steadying me as a man in a suit, obviously in a rush, slammed his shoulder into mine, nearly bowling me over. He didn't pause to apologize.

 _Well, screw you, too._

"How're you doing?" His words, too gentle, too sincere, stirred a sickening churn of fire and charcoal in my gut.

"Just dandy," I quipped, side-stepping his awkward, one-armed hug almost as soon as he'd extended the gesture.

Charlie didn't know what to say to that. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat, and turned toward the alarm that announced my coming luggage.

I hung back as he lunged forward for my bags, the crowd separating seamlessly for him, a man in uniform. Inwardly, I rolled my eyes. I was dreading driving in the patrol car-nothing slows down traffic like a cop-but did he have to wear the uniform, too?

"'That all of them?" he huffed, dropping the last duffel at my feet. He was red in the face, and winded. I supposed that was what being a small-town cop would do to you. Lack of exercise, too much donuts and coffee...

"Think so."

I took the two smaller bags, leaving Charlie to gather the remaining-heavier-three, and headed toward the doors.

It was pissing rain outside, which I was expecting, but it was still depressing.

And I didn't need anymore depressing things in my life. I think I'd had a fair share in the last short while.

Charlie and I had never been close, and so many would wonder why I was coming to live with him, now.

The answer to that question was as easy as it was difficult to answer.

My mother, my most cherished friend in the entire world, had died in a fire that had brought down our house four weeks ago. I nearly had, too, trying to save her, and the aftermath of it-the scarring and damage caused by the toxic smoke inhalation would bring me down with her, in due time. The doctors had told me I would never fully recover from the extent of the damage. I wasn't supposed to expect to live an exceptionally long life.

It was something I was counting on; looking forward to. A salvation, a reprieve from the fiery pits of hell my life had become. I could only hope the end would come soon.

Maybe the lung damage would turn into cancer, maybe the very thing was festering away in my cells right this minute, killing me slowly.

Every morning, before I'd been discharged from the hospital, and afterwards, back at home with my step-father, Phil, settling matters before I came to live with Charlie, I had found myself disappointed that I'd lived to see another day-secretly hoping death would have taken me in my sleep.

I found myself hoping I'd be hit by a car, or that the airplane would have crashed ont he flight over.

But now, as Charlie and I stepped out of the terminal, ducking through the rain to find the cruiser in the parking garage across the street, it was clear that I wasn't going anywhere soon-much to my disappointment.

Charlie still lived in the tiny, two-bedroom house my parents had bought in the early days of their marriage. The only kind of days their marriage had possessed.

My conception had been the result of a drunken, one-night stand, their short, stitched-together marriage a result of the summer fling that followed.

The story went that she had been driving up the Pacific Coast with her friends, celebrating their newfound, young-adult freedom, having just graduated from high school. They stopped to camp at First Beach, down in La Push, where my dad and his buddies were having a bonfire party. They met on the beach, and the rest was history.

Charlie proposed at the end of that summer, my mother found herself in way more trouble, with the deteriorating health of my paternal grandparents, than she had planned for. She'd been used to the happy nature of Downey, California, and missed the heat, the sunshine. She fell into a "rut" she'd always called it, and as I'd grown older, it had become clear to me that it had been much more than a rut. It was a depression she'd found herself in, feeling trapped in this dingy little logger's town, with the omnipresent cover of cloud and rain, and the pressure of Charlie's parents' illnesses-his mother's Alzheimer's, and his father's severe arthritis.

She begged Charlie to leave town with her, to start a new life somewhere else, but he couldn't do it. He couldn't leave his parents like that.

A few months later, I was born, my mother's depression compounded by the post-partum hormones, and a few months after that, she and I left, went back home to live with my Grandma Marie for awhile, so that my mother could get her education degree, and earn enough money to get us a place of our own.

Four years later, my grandparents died within months of each other, and my father was left with this tiny house, and the small-town police job he'd undoubtedly settled for.

We spent every summer together in Forks up until I was fourteen, until I insisted we spend our two weeks in California instead.

Despite the annual get-togethers, and despite all the ways I knew we were similar, I had never developed a close relationship with my dad. We had the same slight curl to our hair, and the same, dark brown eyes. Even our mannerisms, our awkward, clumsy ways, the way neither of us liked to talk much... And yet, there had never been much there. It felt like an eternal wall of awkwardness existed between my slightly-estranged father and I. My mother always insisted, forever coming to his defense, that he just didn't know how to talk to me, how to love me.

I thought that maybe he resented me, just a little, for maybe worsening my mother's depression, for being the reason she left.

I didn't take his back-burner approach personally. I didn't blame him, in fact.

Now, as Charlie parked the cruiser in the slim, cobblestone driveway, the bulbous, rusty-red colored truck, parked against the curb by the mailbox, caught my attention.

"Nice truck," I mused aloud, pulling my earbuds from my ears, which I'd jammed deep into my ear canals the minute we'd gotten in the cruiser. I hadn't been up for small talk. Plus, music was an effective way to block the world out.

"Well," Charlie said, clearing his throat as he drew the keys from the ignition, "I kind of bought that off my pal, Billy Black. He lives on the reservation, down at La Push. I figured you'd need a vehicle while you're living here, and it seemed like a nice enough homecoming gift."

"Are you kidding?" I was surprised, as I nearly vaulted myself from the cruiser, that my voice held more enthusiasm than I was used to.

Charlie's face brightened at the excitement in my voice.

"It's all yours," he said, pushing his hand into his pockets.

"Oh my god, Dad. It's... It's awesome. I love it... Thanks."

Our eyes met for a split second before we both looked away, embarrassed.

"Well, now, you're welcome," he said gruffly, clearing his throat again. "I want you to be happy here, Bella."

I hauled a couple of bags from the trunk and started toward the house, pretending I hadn't heard that last part.

I didn't feel like explaining to him that my being happy here was a complete impossibility.

After I'd ditched the bags in my room-the room that had barely changed since I was a baby, only the crib having been switched out for a bed, and a desk added as I grew-I took the keys to the truck, pulled a thicker sweater on over my head, and headed out to the truck.

I climbed inside, welcoming the dry warmth it offered. The leather seats smelled faintly of peppermint, and tobacco. Someone had cleaned the dash well, and the ashtray held a single quarter.

When I twisted the key in the ignition, it revved to life loudly, and then idled at top volume. It surprised me, and a sharp, humorless laugh escaped me, lingering in the empty space of the small cab around me. That surprised me more.

I cruised the neighborhood, taking in the place where I was to call home from now, until... Well-not for long, I hoped.

Everything was too green-it was an alien-planet, foreign and unfamiliar. But I had to admit, it _was_ sort of beautiful. The moss crawling up the tree trunks, and draped from their branches like a canopy. Even the muted light filtered down through the branches greenly.

When the self-doubt and hysterical panic began to mount as I began to think about my first day of school tomorrow, I turned around and headed home, needing something to do, something to distract.

But unfortunately, as I headed upstairs to unpack, I realized putting the clothes in the pine dresser, and hanging my other things in the little closet, was only keeping my hands busy, and not my mind.

Forks High School had a frightening total of less than four hundred students. Students who had known each other since birth, had grown up together, who's grandparents had gone to preschool together... They'd formed their groups long ago, and in a town this small, everyone had to know everything about everybody.

 _Oh god?_ I panicked, _What if everyone knows about me tomorrow?_

I sunk onto the threadbare, violet rug in the middle of my room and pressed my forehead into my kneecaps.

I couldn't handle it if people knew about why I was here. I had never been good at making friends, and though it wasn't my priority now, I'd be damned if people thought poorly of me, or judged me... But then, what was there _not_ to judge?

I was the daughter of the police chief's flighty daughter, returned at last. That in itself was a juicy gossip story.

My breathing gradually crept toward hyperventilation as my mind began to spun with the horrible possibilities of the day to come. People staring at me, which would have happened anyway, I'd admit. The whispers, the pointing, maybe even laughing... But worse, the pity.

There was a knock on my bedroom door then.

"Hey, Bells? I was gonna see if you were hungry? I could make some fried eggs or something?"

My head jerked up, and I realized I was holding his breath, as I listened to him shift his weight in the hallway.

"Bella? You okay?"

"I'm fine," I blurted, pushing my hair behind my ears. "Eggs sound great-I'll be right down."

I held my breath again as I listened, until finally, his footsteps retreated, and headed back down the stairs.

I ground my fists into my eyes to get rid of the panicked tears, braced myself, and stood.


	2. Chapter 2

_An extra long chapter to all the new followers out there. Thank you for the few special reviews I got. I always love to hear what you think :)_

 _Much love! xo_

 _ **Song Inspiration: Human - Christina Perri**_

The dream-which always started the same, just a flicker of conglomerated memories-came, of course, after I found the ability, and the courage, to sink into unconsciousness. It had been after midnight when I'd finally been able to fall asleep. The rain pounding on the roof, and the wind, blisteringly loud, had made it more than difficult.

In my dream, I could see my mother. Happy, healthy, well. Stooping to plant flowers in the bed by the mailbox, standing under the eucalyptus tree in the front yard, experimenting with her many creative-and very few edible-recipes in the kitchen... And then, eventually, the fire came, licking along the floors, just in the corners at first, and then the room burst into flames, and we were both choking, crying, and my mother was screaming, reaching for me from under the pile of burning debris, begging me to leave her, to go, to get out...

"Mom!" I shouted, wrenching up in bed. My heart was pounding so hard against my sternum that I thought it would break through my rib cage.

In the room next door, I heard Charlie snort and roll over.

The walls were paper thin in this house...

As I pushed the blankets off myself, letting in the chill of the early morning, I felt the familiar lump rise in my throat, the tears welling in my eyes. It wasn't until I shifted to climb out of bed that I realized I was shaking so hard I thought I'd collapse when my feet touched the floor.

Carefully, I put my feet on the ice-cold hardwood, and when I was certain my legs could bear weight, I stood.

The light filtering in through the thinning, yellow lace curtains was gray and bleak. The rain had died down some since the night before, but it hadn't stopped completely.

I grabbed my bag of bathroom things and eased my bedroom door open, moving down the hall, to the only bathroom, at the top of the stairs. It was still early, but I might as well get ready now. It was late enough that I knew I wouldn't be going back to sleep.

Once I had the hot water going, which took longer than I would have liked, I stepped under the spray, welcoming its comforting relief at once. The warm stream was like an embrace, raining down over my head, my shoulders and back.

I tried to shake the nightmares off as I scrubbed strawberry shampoo into my hair. They were nothing new, really, same old, same old-but still as haunting and as disturbing as ever.

Breakfast was a quiet event. Charlie wished me good luck at school. I decided not to tell him his well wishes were wasted. Even if every person in that school wanted to be my friend, it would still be torture.

I didn't think I could explain it in a way that would make sense, but carrying out the mundane, boring day-to-day actions when you were walking this strange line between life and death in your mind was nearly impossible. As of late, as deep into this depression as I'd fallen, it felt like life was the dream, and sleep was the living. Horrible, nightmarish living, but there was good in the dreams, too. Small parts of it, but it was there. My mother, alive, here with me again...

Charlie was still looking at me, waiting for an answer.

"Uh, thanks, Dad," I mumbled, stirring around what was left of my now-soggy cereal in my bowl. I hadn't eaten half of it. I was aware I hadn't been eating enough since my mother had died; I was also aware that I'd lost weight, but it seemed somehow insignificant in the scheme of it all. Irrelevant. Unless, of course, the weight loss began to bring on the effects of malnutrition-a heart under strain, a body starved for nourishment, with no way to get it... I entertained the idea of just quitting eating. Would it kill me faster than the acute effects of my damaged lungs would?

I didn't miss when Charlie eyed my bowl as I stood abruptly from the table.

"Better get going," I said, "I don't want to be late."

"Hm," he grunted. I wondered if he noticed he was still staring at my unfinished breakfast.

I yanked the bowl from the table, accidentally sloshing some of the milk over the side. I brought my dishes over to the sink, clearing the food out and washing the bowl. I wiped up the spilled milk from the table, and I headed out the door.

I would have driven straight past the high school if I hadn't been looking for it.

Other than the sign, which read _Forks High School_ , there was no indicator that the clustered gathering of maroon-brick buildings was a school. I wondered, idly, as I pulled into the parking lot, where the feeling of the institution was. The metal detectors, the chain-link fences... This was nothing like my high school back home.

There was shrubbery everywhere, flowers and bushes planted against the red of the buildings, dulled by the grayed sunlight, obscured by the rain clouds; hedges along every pathway.

There were even more plants in the front office, overflowing from pots in every which corner, on every possible surface. As if there wasn't enough outside.

"Hello, dear," the receptionist said from behind the desk, which cut the small, warm room in half. "Can I help you?"

I pulled my hood down and stepped up to the desk. "Uh, yeah. I'm... Isabella Swan."

Immediate recognition lit her eyes, but there was no pity in them, to my relief. She helped me make sense of my paperwork-the map of the school, my class schedule, the calender of events.

"Have a good day," she called after me as I stepped back outside.

I'd gotten here early enough that I had been alone in the parking lot, but now the spaces were filling up, and more students were roaming the grounds before first bell. I stepped onto the sidewalk behind a couple of plain back raincoats, pulling my face as far back into my hood as I could, and plugging back into my iPod.

I tried not to notice the stares I was getting, but nobody had talked to me yet, which was good.

I found my first period English class easily, and sat down in a seat in the back without introducing myself to the teacher. I kept my earbuds in so that he wouldn't come over to talk to me.

Mr. Mason eyed me peculiarly, but didn't push the matter. I was grateful to him for that.

The first bell rang, and more students filtered into the room, taking seats around me. Despite the fact that I was sitting in the back, nearly everybody still found the ability to stare.

Mr. Mason passed out reading lists, and I kept my head ducked down, reading the books there intently, though I could still feel the students' stares piercing through me.

 _Bronte_

 _Shakespeare_

 _Chaucer_

 _Faulkner._

I realized I'd already read everything, which was comforting, but also boring. Yet another thing unable to distract me from the blackness inside my head.

When the bell rang, I hurried to shove my things back in my bag, hoping no one would talk to me, but I wasn't fast enough.

"You're Isabella Swan, aren't you?" a voice sounded from behind me.

I sighed, pulling the lone ear bud from my ear. Obviously this guy, tall and gangly, with hair as black as an oil slick, and a skin condition to match, hadn't gotten the message that I didn't want to talk.

"Bella," I told him in a hard, impatient voice.

He looked taken aback by my hostility for a minute, but then seemed to recover and surged forward, kneeling down at my feet.

He came up with the map of the school I'd dropped, which I _would_ , admittedly, miss.

"Thanks," I told him, gentler.

"No problem. Can I walk you to your next class?"

I repressed a heavy sigh of exasperation. More than anything, I just wanted to be alone, but I knew that was an impossibility in a school this small. I was beginning to see now, I was the New Girl, the Shiny New Toy, and everybody would want a turn.

"Sure, thanks."

"Where's it at?" he asked as we donned our rain jackets and headed out the door. To my disappointment, it was still raining.

I unfolded the piece of paper I'd kept clutched in my first. "Government, in building six."

"Ah, that's this way," he indicated, turning down yet another hedge-framed pathway.

"So," he said after a minute, "you're from Arizona, right?"

My stomach dropped, and I felt the muscles in my shoulders clench up. "Uh, yeah."

"Doesn't rain much there, does it?"

"Three or four times a year."

"Wow," he said, "What must that be like?"

"Sunny."

To my surprise, he laughed at my heavily-sarcastic-laden comment, taking no offense.

"Well, here we are." We stopped in front of building six, indicated by the small square sign on the corner of the lawn. "Maybe we'll have some more classes together," he said, sounding hopeful.

"Maybe," I muttered non-comitally, trying to be nice.

He paused for an awkward moment. Someone bumped him on their way past. "Well, see you around, Bella. Good luck with everything..."

"Uh huh." I stepped inside.

I hid in my truck when the lunch bell rang, though I hadn't packed any food.

That was okay. I distracted myself with the book in the bottom of my bag, forgotten when I'd unpacked my carry-on items last night.

Over the course of the morning, person after person had approached me, introduced themselves. I think I'd heard, 'You're Isabella Swan' fifty times, in a matter of a few hours. To be perfectly honest, I was getting pretty sick of meeting new people, seeing new faces. I almost stabbed my keys into the ignition and headed home just looking at the prospect of more faces in my remaining two periods of the day: Biology... and _Gym._

To put it simply, I wasn't exactly the most coordinated person around. Which sounds strange coming from a girl who grew up in California, and then Arizona. You would think I'd be some sporty, tanned cheerleader, or a volleyball player. But no. I didn't have a stitch of muscle on me, and I was the palest person I knew.

I had sustained many an injury in gym class back home, and inflicted quite a few as well, so it could be understood why I wouldn't be looking forward to it.

Just then, the bell to end lunch rang, and as I gathered my things and headed back into the rain, I realized that this coming afternoon, like much else, was completely and entirely out of my control.

I walked to class alone, which was a nice change.

When I walked into the room, class hadn't started yet. Taking quick inventory of the room, I noticed that there was only one lab table with an open seat, and the person sitting there was a tall, lean-muscled boy with a head of disheveled reddish brown hair.

I tramped to the front of the room and introduced myself to the teacher. When he directed me to the open seat beside the boy with the bronze hair, I kept my eyes down, avoiding the curious glances of the other students, and slid onto the open stool.

I put my book down in front of me, studying the cover as if it were the most interesting thing on the planet, tracing the letters with my finger.

"Hello," a quiet, musical voice said, "I'm Edward Cullen. You must be Bella Swan." I looked up into the eyes of the boy sitting beside me for the first time, and my mind went completely blank.

He was unbelievably, inhumanly gorgeous. As close as I was sitting, I could see that his every feature was absolutely flawless, his nose perfectly straight, high cheekbones and an angular jaw. He was more beautiful than any male model I'd ever laid eyes on. And his eyes... Were the most peculiar shade, an odd ocher color, almost golden, framed by thick lashes. It was those I'd seen first, those eyes which had derailed my every thought.

I blinked, dazed.

"What?" My voice sounded distant, flat.

His perfect brow furrowed slightly. "You're Bella?"

"Um... Yes," I said, finally composing myself. _Wait. Bella?_

I hadn't realized I'd said the words aloud until he replied, "Do you prefer Isabella?"

"No, I like Bella, it's just... Everybody here has called me Isabella so far. I'm pretty sure my dad's been calling me that behind my back."

"Oh." He looked away awkwardly, giving me a chance to examine his pristine profile. It was impossible for one person to be so devastatingly good-looking.

I finally turned away, wrenching my attention to the front of the room, where Mr. Banner was explaining the lab we were doing today. The phases of mitosis, which I knew backwards and forwards. Though we were doing it with onion root tip cells today, and I'd only done it with whitefish blastula.

When he directed us to get started, Edward Cullen turned to me again, pushing the microscope from the middle of the table, closer to me.

"Ladies first, partner?" I didn't realize I was staring blankly until he continued, "Or I could go first, if you like."

"No," I said, my tone harsher than intended, more angry at myself than him, "No, I'll go ahead."

We completed the lab quickly, between the two of us. He was obviously academically gifted as well, not only bestowed with handsomeness. Wasn't it always the way, though? Didn't the good-looking ones always have it all?

"Are you enjoying the weather?" he murmured when we were finished.

Laughter escaped me, snorting, most-attractively, out of my nose. "Uh, no."

Confusion furrowed his brow once more. "Don't you like the rain?"

I shook my head. "Or the wet."

"Why did you move to the wettest place in the continental U.S. then?" he asked.

Until now, I'd been following Mr. Banner's figure, where he was walking around the classroom, checking on various students' work. When I glanced toward him, apprehension rising in my gut, our eyes met again, and as I fell into their limpid pools of gold, I answered without thinking.

"My mom... She passed away."

Alarm lit his face. "I'm so sorry."

I felt my cheeks go red, immediately humiliated at my show of vulnerability. What the hell had possessed me?

He'd looked away, an unfathomable expression on his face, and inexplicable tears rose in my eyes, terrified at the way all of my walls had crumbled apart in the presence of this boy? Was he the type to tell all of his friends about this? Was I destined to be the talk of the school, now, for not only being the new girl, but the girl who had lost her mother, too?

Just then, Mr. Banner approached our table, peering over Edward's shoulder at the worksheet, checking over the answers.

Grateful for his distraction, I answered his question, and when he walked away, sat stiffly in my seat, praying that the bell would ring.

For the rest of class, Edward Cullen and I did not speak.


	3. Chapter 3

I sat slumped in my seat, chin in my hands, eyes fixed on Mr. Banner, trying in vain to concentrate on the lecture on flatworms. But it was not something that could keep my attention for very long. I'd tossed and turned all night long, though the rain had been relatively quiet over the evening hours, and I was exhausted.

Something had kept me starting awake, adrenaline spiking in my bloodstream, every time I remembered the conversation I'd had with Edward Cullen the day before. Adrenaline... or humiliation? I still couldn't believe I'd allowed myself to be so open, and honest, and vulnerable. Why couldn't I have just kept my mouth shut?

And then I would remember those ocher eyes of his... So clear, and unusual... and perfect.

There was no denying it. Edward Cullen was beautiful, and utterly and completely out of my league.

"Hello, Bella," the smooth, velvet voice said beside me now, as Mr. Banner wrapped up the conversation three minutes early. We were free to converse until the bell rang.

I considered just ignoring him, and trying to pretend that yesterday had never happened. But when I allowed myself to glance at him sideways, my entire resolve to exile him crumbled.

"Hi."

"How are you today?"

I stared at him for a minute, hoping my face was impassive. "Um... I'm fine..." The end of my words came out more as a question, though I hadn't intended it.

"Do you have anyone to walk you to your next class?"

His offer startled me. It was impossible to think that this perfect boy could even find a modicum of interest in me. I very highly doubted it was anything more than pity for the new girl, but even so, that was a stretch far beyond my imagination.

"Um..." I said again, "No." Even though, I remembered suddenly, that I _did_ have someone to walk me to my next class. A very nice boy, named Mike Newton, had introduced himself to me after Biology class yesterday.

"You're Isabella Swan, aren't you?" he'd inquired.

I'd sighed, pushing my books into my bag. "Bella."

"I'm Mike. Can I help you find your next class?"

Mike had really been quite cavalier about the whole gym thing. He offered to be my partner for Badminton, and I tried to convince him not to be, that he didn't know what he was getting himself into, but he insisted. He was actually very good, effectively playing the whole game without my help, jumping in front of me to get the birdie at every interval. The one time I'd swung, I'd somehow managed to catch both myself and him in the head. Though I apologized profusely, he'd insisted it had been alright.

Then we'd discovered that as well as Biology and Gym, we were also in the same English class, prompting him to have sat next to me this morning. Then I'd sat with him and his friends at lunch, most of whom were very welcoming.

I hoped today would be more of the same in gym, but I doubted that as I exited the room with Edward, catching Mike's dejected, somewhat offended look, from the corner of my eye.

We walked in silence for awhile, the wet gravel crunching under our feet along the pathway. Even if I had wanted to talk to him, I didn't even know where I would start.

"You know," Edward Cullen said suddenly, as we came upon the gym, "you put on a good show, but I'd be willing to bet that you're suffering more than you let anyone see." His words were serious, and yet his tone was light, good-natured.

I stopped suddenly, my face jerking up to look at him.

 _The hell?_

"What is that to _you_?" I snapped, surprised by my outburst, but really-who the hell was this guy, getting all introspective on me and shit, when we'd barely had one conversation between the two of us?

Edward shook his head, unfettered by the ferocity of my words. "I don't entirely understand you, is all."

"Why would you want to?" I muttered under my breath, sure that he couldn't have heard it, but somehow, he seemed to.

"That's a very good question," he muttered.

And then we stood there for a minute, trying not to look at each other-or rather, me trying not to look at him; I could feel him staring me down.

My mind whirled with the forwardness of this boy. Who was he, and why did I feel like he could see right through me? As if he knew what was going on in my head-all about the swirling, dejected thoughts, the dark plague my mind had become... I peeked up at him again, and found him still looking at me.

"I'm just saying," he continued, ducking his head slightly in an effort to hold my gaze, which I dropped to my waterproof boots anyway, "It's hard being the new kid, and having to make new friends. If-"

He was interrupted suddenly, by my name being called. When I glanced in the voice's direction, I saw that it was Mike Newton, and that he was smiling and waving-obviously undeterred by my earlier abandonment. To my surprise, relief flooded through me, as I saw my escape and grasped hold of it.

"Hi, Mike!" I called, a little too enthusiastically. "Thanks for walking me to class," I said to Edward now, hoping he would take his cue and leave, but he didn't budge. Instead, I stepped away, toward Mike.

When I glanced over my shoulder, just before we headed inside, Edward was still standing there, staring after me with the most unfathomable expression on his face.

.

It had been made clear, that much like my mother, Charlie could not cook.

So I'd taken it upon myself to take over in the kitchen for the remainder of my time here, which Charlie hadn't minded in the least.

As I worked away that afternoon, ear buds firmly in place, so that in case Charlie came home, I'd be unavailable to talk, I thought about the two days that had passed since I'd been here.

Everyone at school was really rather friendly, aside from a couple people we sat with at lunch-Lauren Mallory, mostly, and I had tried my best to ignore her contemptuous looks and quiet, snide comments, but I didn't think my self-control would last that long.

But there was a girl named Jessica who seemed sort of nice, and another, Angela, who was... Softer, somehow, quieter. I liked her best of all. She didn't prod, or ask invasive questions. Something I felt invaluable, while I was forced to make friends here. Attachments were the last thing I wanted to form.

As I slid the marinading steak into the fridge, balancing it on top of a carton of eggs, I took my backpack upstairs and tried to focus on some homework, but soon felt my mind drifting, tapping out the beat to the music humming in my ears, rather than trying to solve the Trig problems. And then there was another beat of that sensation... That sinking, panicky, desolate feeling that asked, 'What is the point of all this?', 'Why am I doing math homework when every other moment is filled with the passivity of living?'

I stood, abandoning the homework on the bed, and walked over to my window, staring down at the street below, watching a couple of kids ride by on bikes, an unleashed golden retriever running along with them, its tongue hanging out the side of its mouth. Even from here, I could hear its playful, carefree bark.

That life, that carefree attitude, seemed so far removed from myself, that it was hard to imagine I could ever have that back. That I could ever get beyond the self-isolation, and the big, black dog of depression, ripping me, tearing me apart.

"Counseling would be a good thing," Phil had said to me in the hospital, "It'll help make you stronger." But even as he had said the words, I saw his red-rimmed eyes, glassy with tears, and the words felt entirely hypocritical. How could he lecture me on how to get stronger when every part of him screamed 'depression' too?

I had loved my mother with an all-encompassing entirety. She had been my world, my best friend, my kindred spirit. I had always felt there had been something wrong with me, never having been able to find a niche. Not when I was a kid, and not now at seventeen. I had always felt other from all of the kids at school. My mom had been the person I had always felt the closest too, who had understood me in a way no one else ever had. Even though we hadn't been on the same page to a tee, she was the one I could confide in, could share almost everything with. And though I had felt like the adult for most of our time together, there was a belonging I didn't think I'd ever have with anyone else.

My mother had been my whole world. How are you supposed to go on, when your world is suddenly ripped away from you?

.

"This is really good, Bells," Charlie said. It was the first words uttered since we had sat down for dinner.

"Thanks."

There was another beat of silence, only the scraping of forks and knives against plate.

Then, "How's school going? Make any friends yet?"

I looked up at him, and was surprised to see genuine interest in his eyes, as if he really did want to know. My heart did this funny little dip thing, dropping as I realized I didn't have much to tell him, but also swelling in a strange, unfamiliar way as I saw that he really did care.

So I told him about Mike Newton, and about the people I sat with at lunch.

"Mike Newton's a great kid-great family. His dad owns the backpacking shop just outside of town."

I pushed the food around on my plate, trying to find my appetite, forcing another bite into my mouth anyway, because I could feel Charlie looking.

I wondered how it felt to have his daughter back, after being so estranged from her for all these years. We'd only been seeing each other two weeks annually. It had to be strange to have me on-board full-time now.

Shame and guilt flooded me, weighing me down, almost a visceral reaction pushing down on my shoulders, when I thought of my coming here, of my not wanting to be here, or there, or anywhere...

What would he do if I told him how I was feeling? He'd probably have me committed.

"Bells?"

"Huh?" I glanced up, startled away from the dark path my thoughts had been taking.

"Meet anyone else?"

I thought of Edward Cullen, and his odd interest in me.

"No, not really."

.

When I woke up the next morning, something was different. At first I couldn't place it, but then I realized that the light was too bright, white, intruding on me, leaving me blinking and trying to adjust.

I jumped up and ran to the window, only to groan in devastation. Everything was blanketed in a thin layer of snow and ice, the frozen water glistening from the tree branches in strange, mysterious shapes.

There were icicles two feet long hanging from the eaves of the house, dangling in front of my bedroom window.

 _Snow._

As if rain were not bad enough...

The odd weather had caused me to oversleep, and I rushed through my morning routine, hoping to make time for a longer trip to school than I had originally planned for. I wanted to be careful, to drive slow, as not to carve a path of destruction through main street.

Vaguely, not really intentionally, I wondered what would happen if I were to be caught up in some sort of accident... But I made it to school fine, with plenty of time to spare.

As I climbed out of the truck, clinging to the side mirror when my feet almost completely slid out from underneath me, I caught the glimpse of something silver.

As I bent closer to inspect, I realized that there were snow chains on my tires... Charlie had gotten up God knows how early to install them, and here I was, taking every inch of his hospitality for granted, wishing it away, wishing for death... And yet, I couldn't help it. There was nothing I craved more than the nothingness, for the end of it all.

And my father, the man who I barely knew, was completely oblivious to it, doing things for me, taking care of me-from the snow chains on my tires, to the posters on my bedroom wall, hung in preparation for my arrival-in a way that was just so unfamiliar, and so, unexpectedly, _nice._

That same mixture of guilt and shame and despair flooded through me, as if I were saying goodbye to something precious, and then, there were unexpected tears in my eyes, a lump stuck in my throat.

I tried to gather myself, staggered by my sudden display of emotion in the early-morning chaos of the student parking lot, holding on to the bed of my truck.

I barely even _knew_ Charlie, and here he was, doing nice things for me, caring for me in a way that was so unexpectedly welcomed, like being wrapped in a warm blanket after being out in the cold for too long.

The blackness warred against it, warning me that acknowledging this would be a bad idea, but it was too late. I was acknowledging it.

There was a dim, high-pitched noise then, a small, tinny sound in my ears, as if they were ringing at this overwhelming emotion, and I felt myself frown. What an odd, visceral reaction...

The noise got louder, less hollow and more grating, and with a flash, I realized it wasn't a ringing in my ears, but the sound of squealing brakes.

I looked up, my head jerking toward the sound, and that's when I saw the blue van, careening across the icy lot toward me, finding no traction with its tires on the asphalt.

As I stood frozen there, I looked around, at the sea of shocked faces staring at me, Edward Cullen's standing out annoyingly, from where he stood four cars down, and I thought, _This is it. This is how it ends. Not by an intentional move of my own, but this, a freak car accident, crushed between my vehicle and Tyler Crowley's, a total accident, but totally welcomed._

Because, here, now, this way, I wouldn't have to acknowledge that I had wanted this all along.

Possibly, I thought, I'd been willing death into fruition so ceaselessly, that the gods, or the universe or whatever, was finally listening to me, answering my darkest of dark prayers.

In the final seconds, I squeezed my eyes shut, so I wouldn't need to see it coming.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I wanted to thank everyone, first and foremost, for the wonderful reviews-very constructive and helpfull-and the follows. I love that so many of you are as excited for this new unfolding of Twilight as I am. I can't get the ideas out fast enough, impeded only by the demands of being a mom. Believe me, if I could just sit and wright all day, I'd be in absolute heaven. But alas, we all need to wait for updates, and so thank you for your patience.**

Something hit me, hard, but not from the direction I'd been expecting-hoping for?

I could barely comprehend what was happening; it felt like I was flying, suddenly airborne, and then I hit the frozen asphalt, the back of my head cracking off the ice.

There was an odd, metallic grating sound, and then someone cursed, and I realized there was a stone arm around my waist, pinning me, holding me down. I was moving again, flailing like a rag doll, until my legs hit the tire of the tan car beside us.

There was a pop, and then glass spilled onto asphalt.

When it seemed all was over, I blinked, dazed.

"Bella? Are you alright?" Edward Cullen's low, frantic voice said, filtering into my ears from what seemed like a very great distance.

"I'm... fine," I answered, still confused. How was I alive in this moment? _Why_ was I alive in this moment?

Sudden rage flared as clarity came, hot and red, and I struggled against his hold. Immediately, he released me, sliding as far away from me as the small space allowed, his eyes wary.

"What the hell was that?"

He seemed surprised, and confused by my words. Truth be told, so was I, but a lot of things were surprising me at the moment. Like, for example, how I was alive at this moment. Shouldn't I be a crushed pancake on the pavement right now? It should have concerned me that I had been hoping for that alternative, but all there was right now was anger. Anger that he had stopped it. Stopped it. With his bare hands. I shook that thought off.

"What do you mean?" Edward said, "I pulled you out of the way."

I shook my head to try and clear it. "No." My jaw set. That _wasn't_ what I was talking about.

Again, he misinterpreted my anger, my confusion. "I was standing right next to you, Bella, and I pulled you out of the way."

"You were standing over there, by your car. Across the lot." Unthinkingly, I was falling for his games, arguing against the cause I didn't even mean to pay any mind to, though it was one that I couldn't help but notice.

How on earth had he made it across the parking lot to me so fast?

And now, as I got a closer look, there were dents in the side of the blue van that looked a lot like hand prints.

What the hell was going on?

"No, I wasn't." His burning golden eyes were guarded.

"Yes, you were."

I could hear the sirens now, coming for us, no doubt.

Edward shook his head slightly, muttering something under his breath. And then, to me: "Can't you just thank me and get over it?"

"No way in hell."

This surprised him, and suspicion gave way to what looked like horrified shock. Shit. Had I said too much? What if he said something to Charlie?

"Thank you," I quickly back-pedaled, but it was too late.

They found us then, the crowds of students and teachers, with tears streaming down their faces, and the conversation was over. For now.

.

Dr. Cullen looked like a supermodel, with his golden blond hair, and the same, odd golden eyes as his god-like son.

He examined me in the emergency room, delivering the verdict I already knew-nothing was wrong.

"Can I just go home now?" I muttered. Desperately, I just wanted to crawl underneath the covers, plug myself into my iPod, and forget about the questions I couldn't seem to find an answer to. I couldn't explain Edward's superhuman speed, or strength, to myself, no matter how many solutions I came up with in my mind. All of them were clinically insane.

Who was this stupid boy, who had barely said twenty words to me and yet already seemed to know way too much about me, with his crazy speed and inhuman feats of strength? I'd seen the dents he'd left in the van, and the divot in the other car, in the shape of his broad shoulders, when he'd seemingly braced himself against it...

Across the emergency room, where he was talking to his father, I glared at him, suddenly filled with more of the rage I'd felt just after the accident.

I didn't want to be saved.

I'd been ready for death.

"Bells?" Charlie said now, from where he stood by the gurney, holding my bag in one hand. "You ready to go?"

"Yeah."

We headed toward the emergency room exit together, and I kept my head ducked down, but right as we were passing Edward, he reached out a hand and grabbed my arm, over my jacket.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" he murmured.

I glanced between him and my father, multiple times, indecisive, like an idiot.

Charlie said, "Go ahead. I need to fill out some paperwork anyway."

Reluctantly, I followed Edward down the hall, where it was more private, quieter.

"What do you want?" I snapped, the anger finding fresh renewal, like fire and a blast of oxygen, seeing his face. Looking so infuriatingly innocent and careful.

"Didn't you want an explanation?"

"You don't owe me anything," I told him coolly, folding my arms over my front.

Edward's brow furrowed for a minute as he stared down into my face, his posture mirroring my own. "You don't seem all that thrilled that I saved your life."

I shrugged, looking away. "No one asked you to."

There was another minute of quiet, as Edward processed my off-handed attitude. Finally, he said, quietly but fiercely, "I had an adrenaline rush. You can Google it. And maybe, while you're at it, you should Google some psychiatrists in the area."

My head snapped up, heat rushing to my face, but my the time I opened my mouth to retort, his back was turned, and he was halfway down the hallway, striding away from me.

Yes, he definitely knew more than he should.

.

The dream started typically, the usual flicker of memories, some of them shoved so far back in my mind I didn't know they still existed. Opening presents on Christmas day, watching my mother sit front row and center, at my ballet recital when I was ten years old, a flash of our trip to the emergency room afterward, when I'd twisted my ankle in a fall off the stage, reading Harry Potter together in bed, firemen stamping through a blazing inferno to save me, to rip me away from my unconscious mother, nearly pulled under by the smoke inhalation myself, waking up in the hospital after the fire, and then, unexpectedly, Edward was there, sitting by my hospital bed, holding my hand. And then we were in the parking lot and, as it hadn't been this morning, everything was moving in slow motion.

My dream self kept her eyes fixed firmly on his face, as he vaulted across the parking lot toward me, gripping me around the waist, knocking me out of the way, my head rebounding off the black ice painlessly, pinning me to the ground. In the dream, the electricity between us was palpable, zapping between our bodies like a current, and my dream self lingered in this moment, taking in every detail of his perfect face, the high, prominent planes of his cheekbones, the straight angle of his nose, the firm line of his jaw, the perfect shape of his full lips... Those wide, sincere, honey-golden eyes, which slowly filled my vision until they were all that I could see...

I started awake, my heart pounding in a very different way than what I was used to.

Despite the thin, fraying tank top I wore, and the fact that the sheets and blankets were tangled on the floor, I was warm, and as I sat up to gather them, I took a breath to steady myself, trying to clear my mind of the now unrelenting images of Edward Cullen.

That was the first night I dreamed of him, but it would, by no means, be the last.

.

I was surprised when the next few weeks passed and Edward Cullen didn't say another word to me. It was clear he was avoiding me from the way he angled his chair away during Biology, but every now and then, I caught him looking at me out of the corner of his eye, and a fresh wave of shame and guilt would rise up in my chest.

As my anger cooled over the next short while after the accident, I realized I had a lot to thank the guy for. Namely, for not telling his or my dad about my obvious depression-to put it lightly. It had been clear as day to him, after that conversation in the hospital, that I'd been hoping the van would have crushed me.

I knew it was the coward's way out, but then I wouldn't have had to take any sort of action. The course had been laid out in front of me, effortless, and I didn't have to play a hand in it at all. That way, I would have got what I wanted, and no one-namely Charlie-would have been beat up over my death, because it wouldn't have been an obvious suicide. An 'accident', purely on basis, yes, but an accident all the same.

While Edward's interest-if you could even call it that-had waned, I couldn't say the same for the new friends I'd made since I'd moved to Forks. 'Friends' was an exaggeration of the word. Obviously I didn't really consider them so, but I kept up the charade to make things simpler. It was easier to put on the mask, than to leave my reality exposed and try to explain it. I much rather would have preferred to sit alone at lunch, plugged into my iPod, a firm wall of isolation between myself and the rest of the world, but from day one, Jessica Stanley and Mike Newton were not about to let that happen.

Eric Yorkie had been the first to introduce himself, and then it had been Jessica, and all her friends at lunch-Lauren Mallory, who I had immediately taken a strong dislike to, Angela Weber, Tyler Crowley... Mike Newton, of course.

He had been bugging me to join them on an upcoming trip to First Beach down by La Push, the local reservation. The first time he'd asked about it had been on my second day at school, but for the past few weeks, the rain had continuously, unceasingly, rained out his plans. Which I didn't mind much. Beaches, in my opinion, were supposed to be hot and dry-the sand, at least.

I doubted First Beach was anything like the beaches I was used to.

But I had agreed to participate in the outing either way, because I knew Charlie would appreciate my being involved with the other kids.

One thing I refused to be involved in, however, was the upcoming Spring Dance. A blessing: it was supposed to be girls' choice-so at least I wouldn't need to worry about any unwanted invites-in theory, at least.

"So, Jessica asked me to the spring dance," Mike said now. It had become routine for him to sit on the edge of my side of the lab table while we waited for Mr. Banner to start the class.

I didn't miss seeing, in my peripheral vision, Edward's head twitch slightly. Cocking an ear?

Jessica had approached me earlier in the week, expressing her desire to ask Mike to the dance, though she'd been worried I had been planning on doing so myself. I couldn't understand the way she'd talked to me, as if I already had some sort of claim on the boy.

Maybe it was because he tended to act that way himself, around me.

I'd made up an excuse for Jessica quickly, unthinkingly, sighting some reason for a trip to Seattle that Saturday. Luckily, the impromptu plan had been a good one, and had seemed to hold, at least for Jessica.

"You're sure?" she'd asked me.

"Absolutely," I'd assured her, "You go ahead and ask Mike. Have fun."

I perked up now, at Mike's words, ejecting forced enthusiasm into my next words: "That's great. You two will have a lot of fun together."

"Well..." He ducked his head, and I didn't miss the two identical splotches of red on his cheeks, "I told her I'd have to think about it."

"Why would you do that?" I couldn't mask the surprise or the disapproval in my voice, though I wasn't sure that the latter was a bad thing.

"Well," he started again, and he looked up at me again, "I didn't know if maybe... I don't know... You... Were planning to ask me?"

"I'm not going to the dance, Mike. Didn't Jessica tell you that?" My tone was numb, disbelieving.

"She did..."

"Then why-?"

"I didn't know if... You were just... I mean... I thought maybe you were planning on asking someone else?" He glanced surreptitiously at Edward, and again, I was surprised by his assumption.

"Um, no. I have something in Seattle that Saturday."

"Oh."

A beat of awkward silence settled over the table, and I scraped my hair back into a ponytail, for something to do.

"So..." I finally said, "You should tell Jessica yes. It's not nice to keep her waiting."

"I guess so."

Mr. Banner, mercifully, called the class to attention then, and Mike went to go sit at his lab table. I tried not to watch the way his shoulders sagged as he walked away from me.

I let out a long breath, rubbing the pads of my first two fingers into my temples. I did not have time for this. For friends, for boys, for human interaction of any kind, really. But how could I get away with that and not have to explain it to Charlie? Because if his formerly 'well adjusted' friend making daughter was suddenly blocking herself off from the outside world, it would raise concern among the teachers and the student body. And in a town this small, it _would_ get back to Charlie.

When I opened my eyes I found Edward Cullen staring at me.

I sat there for a long moment, like a dowdy, boring mouse caught in the viciously beautiful eyes of a snake. He did not flinch, did not look away, and I continued to stare. My head began to swim.

"Mr. Cullen?" Mr. Banner finally called, and it was only when Edward released me, looked away, that the spell seemed to break, and I pulled in a ragged breath, having forgotten to breath.

"The Krebs Cycle," Edward said, answering the question I hadn't heard Mr. Banner ask.

For the rest of the period I kept my eyes down, fixed on the text book in front of me, though I couldn't follow along with the rest of the lesson for the life of me.

 _Stupid, stupid girl_ , I chided myself, the cruel inner voice stabbing and menacing.

The bell, its hollow ring, released me from my purgatory, and I quickly began to gather my things, angling my shoulders away from Edward so that I wouldn't be tempted to look at him again. But every other sense was hyper-aware of his presence, and of his inactivity.

He hadn't moved. There was no scrape of chair against floor, or the gentle thump of books closing, being stacked together. There was nothing.

I was just about to scoop my books into my arms, halfway out of my seat, when his quiet, somewhat hesitant voice said, "Bella?"

"What?" I snapped, temper flaring, "Are you talking to me again?"

It had been four damn weeks, and not a word, not one freaking word. What did he want now? I tried to push away the image of his eyes in my mind, the eyes I'd been seeing in my dreams for God knows how many nights now...

"No," he murmured, "not really."

It was easier if I didn't allow myself to look at him, to allow myself to get caught up in his golden stare, so I stared straight ahead, watching Mr. Banner clear away the class notes from the blackboard as I said, trying to keep my voice calm, "Then what do you want, Edward?"

"I'm sorry for being so rude," he said now, and much to my regret, he sounded totally and completely sincere, "but it's better this way. Really, it is."

I risked a glance at his gorgeous face and immediately regretted it. My heart skipped unevenly, flip-flopping in my chest, but I managed to keep my words stable and in control. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"It's better if we're not friends," he went on. The emotion in his eyes was unreadable, but if I had to guess, I would have assumed he felt bad about what he was saying, regretting it even as the words came out of his mouth, "Trust me."

So he pitied me. He felt like he was taking something from me by denying my friendship? My temper flared again, and I narrowed my eyes at him.

"It's too bad you didn't figure that out earlier and just let that stupid van crush me. I'd be dead by now, and you wouldn't have to go on like this... You could have saved yourself all this regret."

"I don't regret saving your life." These next words sounded like they were coming from between his teeth, breezing out between clenched jaws, but his eyes stayed flat, emotionless, betraying the anger he was obviously feeling. He could have fooled me.

"I have no idea why," I muttered, scooping up my books. I was fighting back tears now, trying to ignore all the feelings of worthlessness swirling inside me. Of course he did. How could he not? What was I to him? What was I to anyone?

"You don't know anything," he snapped, and when I glanced at him over my shoulder, halfway across the room, his eyes were definitely honest now, betraying nothing, and he was pissed.

My teeth snapped together audibly as I steeled myself against all the bitter accusations I wanted to throw at him. I turned, meaning to sweep icily, dramatically from the room, but of course the toe of my boot snagged the door on the way out, and I pitched forward, my books crashing to the ground.

An icy hand clamped around my upper arm, pulling me upright again, keeping me from falling face first into the damp walkway outside the building. And then, uncomprehendingly, he was kneeling in front of me, my books already piled, holding them out to me like an offering.

"Thank you," I said icily, forcing myself to take the books gently, though I wanted to jerk them out of his hands.

"You're welcome," he returned, equally as cool, and then he rose to his full height, turned, and strode quickly away from me.


End file.
